


And I Will Make Thee Beds of Roses

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cohabitation, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Honeymoon, M/M, Marriage, Romance, Self-Indulgent, Sharing a Bed, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), The World Is A Better Place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: It's the 24th century, humanity has pulled itself together, and after roughly 300 years of romantic commitment to each other, Aziraphale and Crowley decide it's about time they got married. Then it's time to go on a honeymoon!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19
Collections: Good Omens OTP Prompts Event Works





	And I Will Make Thee Beds of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this for the OTP Prompts event at GO Events! My prompt involves Aziraphale and Crowley in a hotel room but is a spoiler for a future scene, so I'll drop a note when we get there. Also, the rating will go up! ❤️
> 
> The title comes from ["The Passionate Shepherd to His Love"](https://www2.latech.edu/~bmagee/201/marlowe/shepherd_&_notes.htm) by Christopher Marlowe - thanks to ratherastory for the suggestion!

One unremarkable morning, several centuries after the world steadfastly refused to end, Aziraphale blinks awake and turns automatically into Crowley's side. Crowley's lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Aziraphale drapes one arm across him and nudges him in the ribs. "You're thinking very loudly," he says. "I'm quite sure that's what woke me up."

"You're awake because it's morning and you've taught yourself to expect a diurnal schedule," Crowley counters halfheartedly. Aziraphale doesn't rise to it and instead turns his face up to meet Crowley's in a good morning kiss. "Mmm. Hey."

"Hello yourself. Would you like to tell me what the matter is?"

They've gotten better at talking about things, these past three hundred-odd years. Aziraphale's begun to feel as if he might be getting quite good at it.

Crowley sighs—a thinking sigh, not a distressed one. "Nothing's wrong. Swear on our book collection. I was just... thinking about us, and life, and things."

"You know the anniversary just passed," Aziraphale says. "Last week—or, oh, was it last month now? You know how dreadfully hard it is for me to keep track."

"Close. Two weeks ago." Crowley collects Aziraphale's hand, dangling loose off Crowley's belly, and kisses the knuckles.

"Do you know, angel," he says, "that by some standards, we might be considered to be an old married couple?"

This has occurred to Aziraphale a fair few times, but he hasn't been brave enough to bring it up. He and Crowley love each other—that's enough. It ought to be.

"There's certainly no one else I'd rather spend eternity with." Aziraphale snugs himself closer into Crowley's side. "We haven't got rings, though," he points out, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Crowley looks over at him, hair flopping over into his eyes, and kisses Aziraphale's hand again, this time deliberately on his bare fourth finger. "Would you like to?"

Aziraphale nods. Crowley sits up, dislodging him enough that Aziraphale has to join him in the land of the rising, and snaps his fingers.

The box he summons is very, very old, and the two rings inside are even older. With an appraiser's eye, Aziraphale notes that they're natural gold, from back before mining was mostly abandoned in favor of cleanly synthesized materials.

"How long have you had these?" He reaches out to pick one up and examine it more closely, and Crowley doesn't stop him. "They're beautiful."

"Tell you later. Here, come here, face me." When Aziraphale looks up at him, Crowley's lost his broody look and is practically bouncing with excitement. "I want to do this properly."

They arrange themselves so that they're sitting crosslegged on the bed, hands clasped together in the middle. Aziraphale's caught between disbelief that this is happening _now_ , ten minutes after he's woken up, and the certainty that of all the wedding ceremonies they've attended together, this one is his favorite.

"I take you, angel Aziraphale, in marriage for as long as our natural existences shall continue." Crowley glances down at their joined hands, cracks a smile, and looks back up. "If you'll have me, of course."

Aziraphale squeezes his fingers and blinks away the tears pricking at his eyes. "And I take you, demon Crowley, in marriage for as long as the universe shall keep expanding, and possibly even after that. Only if you'll put up with me. Do say you will, dearest."

In response, Crowley leans in. They seal their pact with a kiss and slide the rings onto each other's fingers, and just like that, Aziraphale is now looking at his husband. Of all the ways it could have happened, it feels right that it was just the two of them in their own dear little house, in the bed they've been sharing for all these years.

"There we are," Crowley says. There are happy tears in his eyes, too; Aziraphale wants to kiss them away. "What do you want to do now?"

Aziraphale considers. "Well, now that we're married, I should like to do three things with you."

"Such as?"

"One," he ticks off on his fingers, "there ought to be much more kissing. Two, we've still got most of the cake I made yesterday, and I'd very much like to have tea and cake in bed to cap off our ceremony. This was quite good timing, really."

As he talks, Crowley winds his arms around Aziraphale's torso and pulls him back down onto the bed. Their mouths meet, and for several minutes, Aziraphale forgets he was saying anything at all.

"What's the third thing?" Crowley asks when the kiss breaks.

"Oh, that." Aziraphale presses his lips behind Crowley's ear and begins working his way down the sharp plane of his jaw. "I'd very much like to make love to you. As your husband."

Crowley grins and slides his fingers up Aziraphale's pyjama shirt. "Was hoping you'd say that. We ought to consummate the thing anyway, I suppose."

"Quite right," Aziraphale says, and never mind that they've been intimate thousands of times before. He certainly hasn't tired of it.

He hooks his fingers in Crowley's silk pyjama bottoms and tugs them down, and their lips find each other's again, and they soon find themselves quite occupied for a good part of the morning.

*

Afterward, well and truly consummated, they lie naked and entangled under the sheets, stealing bites of lemon drizzle cake off each other's plates. Crowley rubs his thumb over Aziraphale's wedding ring.

"Looks good on you," he remarks. "Why'd we wait so long?"

"Don't know, really. Suppose we just… put it off." There's been so much going on, between trying to keep up with humanity and building a life together in their retirement, that while Aziraphale's thought about marriage, he's never actually managed to bring it up in regards to the two of them.

"Mmmm. Sounds like us." Crowley hums again, a happy noise. "Do you want a honeymoon? Where do you want to go?"

"What do _you_ want? Aziraphale counters. "I never got to ask you before all the intercourse."

Crowley pulls a face, as expected, and interlaces their left hands so that the rings clink together. "What I want," he says, "is to lock myself in a swanky hotel room with my new _husband_ and not come out for a week. Maybe more, but, eh, we can play it by ear."

"Goodness."

"I think they still call it rekindling the romance?"

Aziraphale arches an eyebrow, a trick he perfected by watching Crowley. "My dear," he says, "the romance never left."

A light flush blooms on Crowley's cheeks. "True. Anyway. The question stands. Paris? Berlin? Tokyo? Or would you fancy something more beachy?"

"Actually," Aziraphale says, trailing his foot up Crowley's leg, "if you're not that interested in playing tourist this time around, London might be nice, at least for a start. We haven't been up in ages."

When they moved to the English countryside, they promised themselves that they'd come back to London often—keep their hand in with the scene, so to speak. At first, it was easy, especially with the bookshop still to clear out and maintain.

But as the centuries passed, and they became more and more entrenched in their new home, and Aziraphale eventually let the property go to become a Soho history museum, it became much easier than not to just stay home, even with divine and occult power at their disposal. By Aziraphale's estimates, it's been at least twenty years since the last time they were in a city, unless one counts occasional trips to Brighton.

"That sounds fantastic." Crowley licks his thumb, swipes it through the last of the cake crumbs, and pushes it into Aziraphale's mouth. He then sets the plates aside and nuzzles his face into Aziraphale's neck. "It has been a bit since we've been, hasn't it? S'pose they're getting along all right without us."

"I suppose they are," Aziraphale concedes. "None of them have tried to end the world lately, at least."

Crowley prods him in in his side. "Bad joke, angel."

Aziraphale grins, unrepentant, and kisses Crowley on his forehead. "Terribly sorry, my dear."

"No, you're not. That's all right, though." Crowley slides his prodding hand down to Aziraphale's hip, where it comes to rest. "We're agreed, then? Honeymooning in London?"

"London," Aziraphale agrees. He squeezes Crowley's other hand, still interlocked with his. "At least for a start."


End file.
